he knew it was hidden somewhere, far sweeter
than any he had tasted yet. For it was a maiden's garden in which no man
had trod before; and the maiden was of high degree, and could not wander
along the path with him, yielding her will to his.

His light-heartedness left him then, his face grew grave, and his temper
became melancholy, for the first time in his life. He was only to give
her a few lessons, after all, and Pina would leave him with her for ten
minutes, scarcely more, each time he came. One minute would be enough,
it was true; if he spoke she would listen, if he took her hand she would
let him hold it. But what would be the end of that? A kiss or two, and
nothing more. When the lessons were finished he would be told by the
Senator that his teaching was no longer needed, and after that there
would be nothing. He might see her once a week in her gondola, at a
little distance; but as for ever being alone with her again in his life
for five minutes, that would be out of the question. Could he, a
musician and an artist, a man sprung from the people, even think of
aspiring to the hand of a Venetian senator's niece? In those days the
idea was ludicrous. And as for her, though she might be in love with
him--and he felt that she was--would she entertain for a moment the idea
of escaping from her uncle's house, from Venice, to join her lot with a
wandering singer's? That was still greater nonsense, he thought. Then
what could come of it all but a cruel parting and a heartache, since
this was real love and could not end in a laugh, like the lighter sort
he had known so well? She was a mere child yet, she would forget in a
few weeks; and he was a grown man, who had seen the world, and could
doubtless forget if he chose, provided there were never anything to be
forgotten beyond what there was already.

But if he should speak to her in one of those short intervals when they
were alone, if she stretched out her hand, if he clasped her to him, if
their lips met, things would not end so easily nor be so soon forgotten.
He had the careless knowledge of himself that many gifted men have even
when they are still very young; he knew how far he could answer for his
own coolness and sense, and that if he allowed himself to cross the
limit he would behave like a madman and perhaps like a criminal.

Therefore he set himself to be prudent till the lessons should be over,
and he even thought of ending them abruptly and leaving Venice.